By “his son,” George was referring to Jalson, Dronti’s cousin.
According to leadership laws, Jalson was currently the rightful heir to the throne if the King failed to produce an heir, since Dronti was the only child of the late King.
George walked over and patted his nephew’s shoulder with heavy familiarity.
“Anyway, I know you are still young, but time flies so fast.
The council is beginning to grow anxious.
Is there a physical issue, or are you simply struggling to find the right woman?” Dronti subtly shifted his shoulder, breaking his uncle’s grip.
“You do not need to concern yourself with when I decide to produce an heir, Uncle.
Tell the council to grant me time.
I am still searching for a suitable woman to carry my heir.” George turned his head toward the grand staircase as Luna Dowager Christine marched gracefully down the steps.
“Ah, but I hear your mother has already selected the finest candidate for you—Joline Drakemore.
She would make an exceptional queen.” “You speak with great wisdom, George,” Christine chimed in as her heels struck the marble of the main floor.
She gestured toward her son before looking at the elder nobleman.
“Do not worry so much; Joline will soon be the queen of this palace.
Just continue putting in a good word for Dronti with the council, and I will be deeply grateful.” George turned back toward the sitting area and slowly settled into a velvet sofa, leaning both hands over his cane.
“I am doing everything in my power, Lady Christine.
However, the council will not tolerate hearing the same excuses indefinitely, as I am sure you understand.” He paused, stroking his dark grey beard thoughtfully.
“They are beginning to question whether the King is potent at all.” George searched Dronti’s face for any twitch or crack in his composure to validate his words, but Dronti’s mask remained utterly unreadable.
The King had perfected the art of concealing his emotions long ago.
Christine scoffed softly.
“Those are merely baseless rumors spread by those who wish to tarnish the King’s reputation.” “Well,” George said, rising smoothly to his feet and straightening his coat.
“All the King must do to prove them wrong is impregnate a woman—and soon.
Consider this a friendly reminder of how aggressive the council is becoming regarding the succession.” He bowed his head slightly toward the door.
“I shall take my leave.” Once the double doors clicked shut behind his uncle, Dronti turned his piercing gaze onto his mother.
“Mother, what were you trying to achieve back there?
Did you spike the water?” Christine met her son’s cold eyes without flinching.
“You see how dire our situation is becoming.
Do you truly think George informing you that Jalson’s wife is expecting was meant as good news?
He was taunting you—reminding you how fragile your hold on the crown is.” She paused, her eyes softening slightly.
“I was only trying to help you.
I refuse to watch you end up fathering an heir with one of those nameless women you keep around.
Even if you hold no affection for Joline, you could have used the cloud of the aphrodisiac to lay with her.
She comes from a respectable lineage.” Dronti lowered his voice, his eyes narrowing.
“That woman is not as innocent as she appears, Mother.” Christine dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand.
“It hardly matters.
You can use her to carry your heir and discard her afterward if that is what you desire.
No one is forcing you to make her your queen.” Dronti calculated the situation silently.
Since his body had already shown a reaction earlier under the influence of Breena’s herbs, he could attempt it with Joline to finally silence his mother’s constant badgering about producing an heir.
He would never grant her the crown—a woman like her deserved only to be used as a vessel.
He would impregnate her, secure the child, and then cast her out just as she came, shattering her respectable facade and ensuring she lost face before everyone.
He locked eyes with his mother.
“Where is the drug?” Christine blinked, caught off guard.
“What?” “I want the aphrodisiac you used earlier,” Dronti repeated coldly.
“And where is she?” Understanding dawned on Christine, a spark of hope lighting up her eyes.
“Oh!
Joline?
She is likely waiting for you in your room.
You can drink from the jug again; the water is still spiked.” She watched as Dronti poured a full glass of the laced water and downed it in one smooth motion, followed immediately by a second, and then a third.
Alarm flashed across her face, and she stepped forward to catch his wrist.
“You must not drink so much!
One glass is more than enough,” she warned.
Dronti poured a fourth glass and drank it completely.
“I have no desire to be coherent enough to recognize her while I am touching her.
I will not be able to perform if I am forced to look at her face.” Standing near the doorway, Neil pressed his hand over his mouth to stifle a sudden chuckle.
Christine stood in awe, momentarily rendered speechless.
Though his words were harsh, she dared not push her luck further.
It was already a massive victory that he was willing to lay with Joline at all, given how many of her previous attempts to unite them had failed miserably.
She could not risk causing him to change his mind.
Without another word, Dronti turned on his heel and strode up the grand staircase.
Meanwhile, Joline had been standing just outside the threshold of Dronti’s room.
Thanks to her sharp hearing, every word spoken in the hall downstairs had carried clearly to her ears.
A bitter, toxic smile curved her lips.
They intend to use me as a breeding vessel and throw me away?
She thought, her knuckles turning white against her gown.
You have no idea who you are playing with, Leusi.
You will not use me and discard me at your leisure.
Hearing the heavy thump of Dronti’s approaching footsteps on the upper corridor, she quietly slipped back inside his room and pulled the heavy door shut behind her.
She smoothed her dress and sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, her heart hammering in anticipation as she waited for him to enter.
She waited in silence for several long minutes, her breath catching as the handle finally turned.
But when the door swung open, it was not the King who stepped inside.
A middle-aged man dressed in a sharp medical coat entered, carrying a doctor’s kit in his hand.
He bowed politely.
“Good evening, ma’am.
My name is Dr.
Rulph.
The King has ordered me to perform an immediate screening for any sexually transmitted infections, as well as a preliminary pregnancy test.” Joline stared at the physician in utter disbelief, her jaw slackening.
“What?
Right now?” “Yes, ma’am,” Dr.
Rulph replied smoothly, opening his kit on a side table and preparing the sterile vials.
“King’s orders.” Suppressing her rising fury, Joline forced herself to comply, realizing how deeply the King mistrusted her.
She silently submitted to the rapid blood draw and swabs.
Once the doctor had packed away his instruments, she looked at him sharply.
“Well?
What are the results?” Dr.
Rulph snapped his kit shut and offered a tight, professional smile.
“The results are strictly for the King’s eyes, ma’am.
My apologies.” With a brief nod, he turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Left alone in the quiet chamber, Joline let out a dry, bitter laugh, her eyes narrowing in dark contemplation.
“It has only been a day…
there will be nothing to show anyway, right?”